They could drive for miles and not say a word or, conversely, sometimes they would talk just constantly, even finishing each other's sentences. They often go on these long drives to places they've never been before, places undiscovered...places that greet and welcome like old friends. They'll pull over and turn on the hazards and then he'll get out his camera.

He takes the most amazing photos, really. Abandoned factories and passing trains and huge skyscrapers, each photograph telling a story, a mood, or a feeling. She falls into his images the way one falls into a novel or a poem -- each color sure as every word, breathtaking, striking, sure and safe, like coming home and knowing it's where you belong. A prayer flowing from the depths of her heart and soul, so completely fundamental in every way.

Every time he kisses her, or tells her that she's beautiful, or even holds her hand, so gentle and slow, she feels drawn in. She feels so blessed and lucky sometimes that it makes her cry, those sweet tears of heartfelt release and wonderment. He holds her heart so tight that it's stunning...he's her savior and soulmate through it all: the utmost adoration and infatuation and undying passion.

She was never more sure of this than when, having to sleep in her twin-sized dorm room bed (after being so used to that queen-sized bed of love), they lay a tangled mess of entangling arms and legs, she swore that she had never slept better, had never been more comfortable...she had a sliver of the mattress and his arms and his heartbeat and if she never had anything else, she would be fulfilled, content.

What love. What absolute, immaculate love.